


All That Matters

by insatiablerealist



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Episode: s05e06 Icarus, Friendship, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Missing Scene, Musing about the future, Sharing a Bed, and the past, in a completely platonic nonsexual way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablerealist/pseuds/insatiablerealist
Summary: While undercover, Morse and Trewlove continue their discussion about balancing career and love after Trewlove persuades Morse he doesn't need to sleep in the bath again.Vaguely canon-compliant missing scene from Icarus.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Shirley Trewlove
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	All That Matters

After a couple nights sleeping in the bath, Morse wasn’t looking forward to a third, but he also wasn’t about to argue with Trewlove’s decision that he couldn’t risk sleeping on the couch. He had just gotten changed and was preparing to drag his pillow and blanket to the bathroom when she came upstairs. 

“I don’t want to put you out there again,” she said, sighing. “Why don’t we just share the bed?” 

“Oh, I’m fine, really, I couldn’t—” he quickly and inelegantly replied. 

“It’s a queen bed, and we’re both mature, professional adults. I don’t expect you to molest me in my sleep,” she said lightly.

“No, of course not— I’d never— I mean—” Morse stuttered, making Trewlove laugh.

“You’d think you’d never shared a bed with a woman before.”

“Never shared a bed with a fellow officer,” he muttered.

Trewlove apparently elected to ignore this comment, because her next comment was, “I’ll take my things into the bathroom to change, so your modesty can be preserved.”

Once she’d closed the door behind her, Morse hurriedly stripped and pulled on his pajama bottoms. He didn’t usually sleep in them, but things being what they were, he rather thought more clothing rather than less was preferable. 

His anxiety had time to build again while he waited for Trewlove to finish up, and while he took his turn in the bathroom, until he found himself dreading his return to the bedroom. When he re-entered, Trewlove hadn’t yet gone to bed; she was standing by the dresser braiding her hair. As Morse closed the door, she tied off the braid and turned. 

"Well," Morse said, looking at the bed with trepidation. He thought longingly of the couch downstairs, and somewhat less longingly of the bath. 

"Here we are, then," Trewlove said with a smirk, getting in on her side. 

"I'll go on top of the duvet, at least," he said. After two nights with just the spare blanket in the drafty bathroom, he knew he’d manage.

"Suit yourself." Trewlove pulled said blanket over herself without regard for her companion's awkwardness. 

Morse avoided eye contact as they both settled, only looking out of the corner of his eye to confirm that she was all set. "Can I turn out the light?"

"Yes, go ahead."

"Well, goodnight," he muttered as he switched the beside lamp off. 

He tried to will his body to sleep once the darkness enveloped them, but he couldn't relax, but he didn't want to shift around for fear of annoying Trewlove, or worse, bumping into her accidentally. He was beginning to resign himself to another uncomfortable night of little to no sleep when Trewlove's voice interrupted his anxious thoughts. 

"Morse?" she asked softly. 

"Mm?"

"Did you mean what you said downstairs?"

He wracked his brains but failed to identify what she meant. "Which part?"

"About giving all this up. If someone came along."

Of course. "Yes," he said immediately."Yes, I think so."

"Huh."

"Why do you ask?"

"I just can't imagine it, that's all." But that apparently wasn't all, because Trewlove soon continued, "I've had to work so hard for this, and I've got so much work ahead of me if I want to keep at it. I don't think I'd ever be willing to sacrifice any of that for someone. Even if I loved him."

"It's different for you. I'd imagine," Morse corrected himself. "I've had my struggles in CID, but I expect it's nothing compared to what you've been through."

"It's not all terrible. But I'd never take it for granted."

"Mm."

"But I would think you wouldn't take it for granted either. Finally getting made Sergeant, after so long."

"I don't. But . . . I don't know," he muttered. "I suppose I'm not as fond of the job as I used to be."

"I wouldn't think you could give it up entirely, though."

"And why's that?” Morse asked. He hadn’t expected this late-night conversation, but he found it far easier to talk than lie in silence, and Trewlove was always an interesting conversation partner. 

"Forgive me, I'm being presumptuous, but . . .” Trewlove paused. “We're rather similar. We both pay attention, pick up clues that others— that sometimes go overlooked. And we like to find solutions, especially when they’re not straightforward.”

"Yes, I suppose that's true.”

"And, well, I'm not a detective, so I suppose I couldn’t really say what it's like, but I would think that the thrill of solving a case would never fade."

In the darkness, Morse smiled slightly. "It doesn't. But neither does the bitter regret about the people who get hurt along the way."

"Of course," Trewlove said softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . .”

"No, it's alright."

"So once you find the right girl, you'll toss it all in?"

"Mm, maybe.” 

For a moment, they were both quiet, and Morse thought the conversation had trailed off, before Trewlove said, “I thought you had a girl, these days."

"Where'd you hear that?" Morse asked sharply. 

"Jim said you hadn't been home much lately. Didn't know anything about her, but he assumed there had to be a her."

"There was,” he said shortly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What happened?"

"She's a photographer. Photojournalist, rather. She went off to Vietnam to make a name for herself."

"Gosh."

"Mm. It was never serious between us, though. At least, she made it clear she didn't want it to be. Didn't mean much to her, in the end."

"If she had stayed, would you have ever considered . . .”

"Quitting? Oh, probably not." He dragged a hand over his face. "I suppose I wasn't that serious about it either." Unbidden, a memory surfaced, of sitting at his desk doing the day's crossword while Monica Hicks worked on her darning beside him. "There was someone, once. I thought I might leave it for her."

"Really?"

"I had this idea that we might go abroad together. I would finish my degree, or teach, or both." It seemed wrong that he was finally teaching, but it was all a sham for a case and Monica was long gone. He could picture it suddenly, living in a house like this, curled up in bed with her instead of shivering on the duvet next to a colleague. 

“Why didn’t you?" Trewlove asked, shaking him from his fantasy. 

"Oh, you know, what always happens,” he said, breezing past the fact that the Blenheim Vale case's resolution was like nothing that had ever happened before or since. "I got wrapped up in a case, and when it was over . . .” He left out the fact that it was several weeks in prison before it was over in any sense of the word. “I don't know. I clearly couldn't follow through, and she didn't want to hang around waiting for me to make up my mind again."

"There, see, I knew you could never give it up completely," Trewlove said. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he could hear a smile in her voice. "You seem like the married-to-the-job type."

"I hope not!" Morse complained. 

"There's nothing wrong with that!"

"Could you? Go through life without ever marrying?" he asked. 

"I don't really know." Morse wasn't really looking in Trewlove's direction, but he could hear her roll over towards him. "I'm too young to know, aren't I?" she asked. 

"Yes, of course,” he said quickly, sorry for projecting his own worries onto her.

"I don't know. It's so hard to picture growing old, and so many men think that once a woman becomes a wife, that should be her only role. I don't think I could stand that.”

“Mm.” Morse privately agreed that he couldn’t see her giving up her career after marriage, but he decided she didn’t need his input on the matter. 

“And you?”

“And me what?”

“Will you be heartbroken if you never find the one?” Trewlove’s words were light, but the question cut deep. After Monica, and Claudine, and Joan, if that even counted, his hopes weren’t high. But even in this dark bedroom that allowed for far more honesty than their workplace interactions, he wasn’t about to admit to all that.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I’ll muddle through, one way or another.”

Beside him, Trewlove laughed softly. “I suppose I will too.”

“You’ll do a fair bit better than that, I expect,” he said. If the world had any goodness left in it, it would give someone like Trewlove everything she wanted and more. “But enough of this, it’s late.”

“You’re right.” Trewlove rolled over again, getting comfortable. “Sure you don’t want to get under the covers?”

“I’m fine,” Morse said, and it wasn’t a complete lie; he found he was much warmer under his thin blanket now. “Goodnight, Trewlove.”

“Morse, please. We’re married; you can call me Shirley.” 

He chuckled, simultaneously charmed by her boldness and pleased that she made no attempt to discover his first name. “Alright, then. Goodnight, Shirley.”

“Goodnight, Morse. Sleep tight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from what Morse says at the end of Girl. This isn't entirely canon-compliant, because the implication is definitely that Morse continues to sleep in the bath, but I, like Trewlove at the beginning of this, think that's ridiculous. Also, I think Icarus is supposed to be set a while after Claudine dumps Morse, but I wanted it to come up. Mostly I just wanted Trewlove and Morse to be better friends and I miss her very much, so I might write more about them. 
> 
> If you liked it, leave a comment or find me [on tumblr.](https://wheretheeternalare.tumblr.com/)


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